


Tied down

by Crystal_Mazes_Lovely_Corner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Implied Drug Use, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sex, Sex Magic, Voyeurism, bandits, keeping secrets, no one uses their words, ritualistic partner sharing.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_Mazes_Lovely_Corner/pseuds/Crystal_Mazes_Lovely_Corner
Summary: The man pressed his face into Stiles' neck, the sharp sound of his breath telling him that this wolf was trying to scent him. It unsettled something in Stiles, in all his life, it had never been good to draw attention to himself. When he pulled away, Stiles could see that his eyes were green, like a reflection of the underside of a lily pad. "You smell of magic," he almost growled.Stiles couldn't tell from his expression if that was good or bad. "I'm surprised I smell of anything other than cheap wine and dirt," he replied.The corner of the man's mouth moved, but it stopped short of making a smirk. "That too."





	Tied down

**Author's Note:**

> d4: non-con  
6: multi partners  
d8: teen wolf  
d9: fantasy  
d12: knotting  
d20: manhandling
> 
> Heeeeeeeyyyyyy, it's been a while, hasn't it? have some sex magic! This was supposed to be down and dirty but this house has been hit with a Bunnywest fever, so it's a lot more intimate than expected. Still not heathly, though.  
Edited and loved by Udunie.

The dust was picking up so quickly that Stiles couldn't comprehend what was happening. One moment he was traveling with a neutral merchant train, and the next he was being knocked off his horse by something with teeth and claws. Stiles was expecting rabid dogs, not humans with extra pieces. He was down and out so quickly he didn't have time to even counter strike. 

They were all lined up quickly, some of the... werewolves he assumed, though he had never seen one before... decided to shove some of the children a little harder than necessary. "Looks like you don't know your own strength," Stiles sneered, "Maybe you should let some of that aggression out on the carts, they would certainly put up more of a fight." 

Stiles' ass hit the ground with the full force of the blow behind it. He was used to people reacting negatively to his 'incessant' talking, but being struck by a bandit was a new experience for him. His hands were tied haphazardly in front of him, but there was no chance of escaping like this, surrounded by these changelings and dizzy from the abuse. So he stayed still. Hopefully, he thought, they would just take the merchants goods and let them leave. 

A man walked over, the only one with a cloak, so Stiles assumed he was the leader. He was talking to the head of the merchant family, who was still obviously distressed. Stiles figured if he was under that intense scowl, he wouldn't be able to put a sentence together, so he had to admire the man. 

Stiles wasn't aware of moving, or doing anything to draw attention to himself, when the leader's pale gaze flashed over to him. He felt pinned under those eyes, like a deer at the point of an arrow. The man looked him up and down, then stalked closer, until he was pulling Stiles to his feet by his bound hands. This close, Stiles could smell horse, and what could only be described as wildness, all the smells of the forest mixed with blood. The man pressed his face into Stiles' neck, the sharp sound of his breath telling him that this wolf was trying to scent him. It unsettled something in Stiles, in all his life, it had never been good to draw attention to himself. When he pulled away, Stiles could see that his eyes were green, like a reflection of the underside of a lily pad. "You smell of magic," he almost growled. 

Stiles couldn't tell from his expression if that was good or bad. "I'm surprised I smell of anything other than cheap wine and dirt," he replied. 

The corner of the man's mouth moved, but it stopped short of making a smirk. "That too." He brought a hand up, showing that he was only holding the rope with his pointer finger, and started to lead Stiles away from the rest of the group. 

Stiles' heart sank into his stomach. "Please, just let me go," he started to ramble. "I make a terrible captive, I will talk your ear off, I'll annoy you to no end, ask any of these people." 

"Quiet," the leader huffed, pulling Stiles to a stop beside a giant black horse tethered to a tree. He was retied to the reins so tightly that he feared his hands were going to fall off. 

He was left alone for the next hour as the bandits readied to leave with what they wanted. None of the other captives tired to save him, could barely look at him, but that couldn't be blamed on them. He had only been traveling with them for two days, joining up with them in the city when it was clear that he was no longer welcomed there. He was left to stand by this tree, having a stare-off with this horse. The leader came back, with a distinctly new pair of boots, and shoved Stiles onto the beast, mounting right behind him. His hands were reattached to the pommel, making him lean over slightly. "Where are we going?" Stiles asked, unable to hold it in. "Why are you only taking me?" 

A hand clasped over his throat, the prick of sharp claws stinging at his frayed nerves. "If you say another word, I will make it so you are never able to speak again, is that clear?" 

This time it was definitely a growl. Stiles couldn't help but swallow against the pressure of his palm. He nodded as slowly and shallowly as possible. He was rewarded, strangely enough, by what he could only call a pet, the hand moving up his neck and patting at his cheek. 

The Leader let out an ear-splitting howl, and then they were riding off at breakneck speed. 

******

Peter was in the back of the camp when he heard the sounds of hooves racking against the hard rock of the cliff. He wasn't excepting a searching party to come back so soon. He was laying in the sun, letting it warm his fur in the autumn afternoon. There were many trees leading down the slope of the encampment, but right on the edge there was nothing to block the view. 

The party rode up to the perimeter of camp, everyone but Derek stopping. He rode forward until he was beside his tent. It was then that he saw the cargo he was carrying: A young man, probably even younger than Derek, was slumped over in front of him in the saddle. He was pulled off, and Derek, seeing that the man's legs were shaking and weak, lifted him into his arms and disappeared into the tent. This was not an uncommon practice in the camp, but Peter found it odd that it was Derek that had taken someone out of the blue. His nephew was more shy by nature, and despite his outward appearance, more of a romantic. He was even more surprised to see Derek reappear a few minutes later, heading straight for Peter. "I think I've got something." 

Peter took a moment to shift back, standing up on his hind legs, conversations were not meant to be one-sided after all. "If this is about that boy you just threw onto your bed, I don't think you need to give me the details." 

Derek huffed. "No, just..." He gestured back while Peter snickered at his blush. "I found a mage, I think. Come tell me if I'm right." 

That got Peter moving, almost before he knew he was. Derek took his place behind Peter as they entered the tent. It was larger than what was strictly required. They had the resources for the moment, so everyone's little territories were growing. There was a desk and a rug and a bed large enough for two people, or a large wolf, as it happened. Currently, there was one human, squirming around, seeming to try and get his bound hands away from the tent post. He was small, lean and pale, like a young noble. His face and neck were covered with witch marks, highlighting his sharp features and pink lips. When he saw that he wasn't alone, he grew still, his amber eyes flicking between the two of them. 

Peter smirked as they approached, towering over the human and casting shadows over him. Peter sniffed the air. This close, he could definitely smell it. Magic didn't have a particular smell, just a sharpness, something that made all the other scents spicier in some way. Their previous mage had smelled of lavender and lightning. This one smelled of wine and the earth, heady and sitting on the back of Peter's tongue like it was meant to be there. 

Their last mage had been killed by a raid of the kingdom they were residing in. Most people saw changelings and werewolves as a good omen, a sign that the earth was thriving. Peter liked the idea, but that wasn't entirely true. There was a balance, a trade and communication with them and the earth, and their mages were essential to that. Not having one made Peter's pack weak, something that he couldn't afford to be when the land they stood on was hostile. 

Peter reached out, brushing his thumb over the man's cheekbones before he tried to shake it off. "You did well, nephew," he said. "What is your name?" 

The boy licked his lips as his eyes searched his face. His heartbeat was loud, thumping rapidly in his chest. "If I tell you will you untie me?" 

Peter chuckled. "I don't need to know your name, little rabbit. If you don't tell me, I'll just call you whatever I please." 

The man scowled. "Stiles," he spat out. 

An unusual name, but Peter wasn't used to all of the customs of this land yet, so he had no way to tell for sure. "Well, Stiles, I'd like to welcome you to my territory."

Stiles pulled on his wrists pointedly. "If this is how you treat all your guests I would like to see how you'd treat me if you didn't like me." 

"Ah." Peter sat down next to him, his hand to his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his shallow breaths. "I'm afraid Derek is a little over cautious. Mages are very powerful. A good one is sacred to us, but a disloyal one is dangerous." He took advantage of being closer, analyzing the boy's scent more. "But you are merely a sapling. Have you ever tested your gift? Given yourself to the earth and let yourself be her artist?" 

Stiles eyed them cautiously. "I've only ever lifted things, made doors stop squeaking, stopped leaking roofs, things like that." 

"That would be a no, then. Don't worry, we can help you with that," Peter assured. "I'm sure you don't know much about what you are, much less what we are. We help each other, magic fuels us in different ways. We won't know how your's will manifest until we introduce you to the earth." 

"And what if I don't want to do that?" Stiles snapped. 

"Then I suppose it will be less pleasant for you," Peter said, unconcerned. "Though I'm not sure why you wouldn't. If we do this correctly, we could both benefit from this arrangement." He stood up, turning away to face Derek. "I trust you won't mind looking after him for the next few days?" Derek grunted. "Remember to treat him well, we want him to like us." 

*****

Stiles watched as the other man, somehow more imposing despite being stockier than the leader, flounce out of the tent dramatically. The first man huffed, looked down at him, then followed. He came back a few minutes later with his hands full of food, just as Stiles was about to rip his hand from the coarse rope. "So, I'm allowed to talk again right? I know now you're not just going to kill me." 

"Don't tempt me," he growled, which Stiles was quickly learning was just how he spoke. He laid his burdens down on the desk, then drew one sinister looking claw to cut the ropes easily. "You're going to stay here in the meantime." 

"Not _here_ here, right?" Stiles sputtered, gesturing to the bed, which obviously belonged to him. "And 'in the meantime' for what?" 

"You'll see," the man said, holding out a bit of bread. "Peter wants you ready for whatever it is mages do, so don't go doing anything stupid."

"And Peter is..." Stiles gestured toward the tent flap. 

The man nodded. "Our Alpha, our leader."

"And your mother's brother," Stiles concluded. "What am I doing here? Long term, I mean." 

"After they, _we_ I guess, awaken your magic fully, then we'll see what you can do, how you can be useful." The man frowned, seeming to think for a moment. "Or you'll get too powerful and dangerous. Then we would have to kill you." 

Stiles gulped, the bread sticking in his mouth. "I would rather not," he said slowly, though he suspected that his opinion wasn't going to be taken into consideration. He was right when the man simply shrugged, and passed him some cheese. 

**

Stiles was allowed to be outside. He was technically allowed to be anywhere that was inside the camp. He had tried to leave, once, but a werewolf he had never seen before picked him off his feet and planted him back in front of Derek's tent. The message was clear: They didn't care what he did, so long as he stayed put. 

Stiles knew enough of the world to know that he had no idea how a werewolf pack worked, only that the town he had grown up in had hated them, and all the magics that they brought with them. It had been a painful realization when he had been deemed one of them. 

There had been kind people that he had met while he was traveling, getting away was a more accurate description. He found it gratifying to help them with small miracles, but even then he never felt comfortable enough to stay still. Guards would give him suspicious looks as he passed in markets, he would say something odd to the innkeeper, and then later find that his bag was not in the order he'd left it. People were becoming more and more fearful because those in power said that magic was the source of all their problems. 

But that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to throw his lot in with these werewolves. They obviously just wanted to use him for... something. It was hard to fight against what you didn't understand, and no one seemed willing to enlighten him on what they had planned. 

His captivity was at least better than rotting away in a jail cell, or worse being burned alive. It was just this sense of enclosure, knowing there are boundaries _right there_ that he should be able to cross but couldn’t. 

Despite his lack of knowledge, he could tell that something was happening. Every couple of hours a new batch of warriors or scouts added themselves to the camp, making the woods fill with noises of a war camp instead of cicadas. He saw the alpha walking around a few times, always accompanied by a group, always barking orders. Sometimes there would be more wolves than men wandering around. A large one, all black and sleek with red eyes, would come and sit by him in the twilight, watching over the others as dinner was prepared. He would flop over rub his head against Stiles' neck, or curl up with his head in his lap. Stiles would look out for him, try to figure out which soldier this was, but in the end he just found it comforting. Everyone else pretended not to notice him. 

On the morning of the third day, a small group rode right up the middle of camp. Stiles watched an older man and a woman with raven black hair dismount and go straight into the alpha's tent. He could tell that something was off with the rest of the camp, everybody was tense, those off duty moved restlessly, prowling around Peter's tent. It was only a few minutes until they exited, Peter leading the way. They made a beeline straight for him. 

Stiles stood, fighting the urge to stumble away from them. Peter smirked, holding his hand out for him to take. "This is Stiles," he said, the first word he'd spoken to him since that first hour in the camp. The couple said nothing, but the woman reached out and placed a hand on his chest, Peter's hold preventing him from stepping away. Something started to hum around them, and with a jolt, Stiles realized she' was doing magic on him. He tried to push her away, but Peter held him in place. He could feel something swirling around them, then fading away as if blown by the wind. The woman dropped her hand and drew a deep breath. "He'll suite you just fine," she said softly. 

The grin Peter gave her was wolfish. "Thank you, Marin," he said. "You know I'm not well versed in these rituals, at least not enough to trust my own hand. Would you be so kind as to prepare him for tonight?" She nodded, simply staring at Stiles as if he were a particularly interesting flower. He decided instantly that he didn't like her. 

Peter and the other man walked off to continue their own tasks, leaving Stiles alone with her. 

"Are you native to these parts?" she asked. She was carrying a side bag and bringing it in front of her to ruffle through. Stiles didn't want to give this woman any more than she was already going to take so he stayed silent. She sighed. "This is going to happen one way or another. I would like your help finding some ingredients for tonight, but it's not required. You can just sit here and twiddle your thumbs if you'd like." 

"I don't even know what 'this' is!" Stiles snapped. 

Marin blinked like this was news. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Peter likes to play his cards close to his chest, and you are an outsider for the time being." 

Stiles couldn't help letting out a frustrated groan. "And I take it you aren't going to tell me either."

"Of course not," she said simply. "Now do you know where we can find raspberries around here or not?" 

Stiles couldn't make himself respond, thinking that he would regret anything that came out of his mouth, so he simply turned and walked away, heading back to his usual spot. By the time he looked back at her, she was gone. 

******

The moon was already pulling at Peter's soul, even before the sun had dipped over the horizon. It wanted him to move, to feel the earth give under his claws and let the air toss around with the sound of their howls. The moment the last curve of the sun dipped out of sight, he roared, every single one of his pack joining him. He raced through the forest.

They were heading toward something. 

The forest wasn't particularly large, it did the job of providing cover and distance from the hostiles of this land, but nothing more. It did its job well, and still had deer and rabbits they would track down. Sinking his teeth into flesh helped take off some of the edge the anticipation was giving him. 

There was a clearing he knew wasn't there before. All of the wolves stopped short of entering a circle made of salt and figs. A fire was set in the center, and by it was standing Marin, dressed in only a skirt and the markings that she had painted on herself. Stiles was sitting a little off to the side looking disgruntled, wearing nothing but a loose robe. When he saw them all approach his eyes widened, and Peter wasn't big enough to deny that he reveled in the shock there. He was a wolf, he was meant to instill fear in humans.

Stiles wasn't going to be a simple human much longer. 

He dropped off his kill with the other supplies, before shifting back into his human form. Some were setting up wine and instruments. Others were stepping cautiously into the circle. It was meant to contain their energy, to make the earth pay attention to them. Peter hadn't done this before, had never made a new mage. He had seen Alan become Talia's when he was younger, and he hadn't participated. A mage and an alpha were vessels of powerful magic, and they needed each other to balance them out, like the sky and the earth. Which meant they were to become one. 

But there was build-up that was needed, Stiles needed to be prepared. 

He walked to the center, Marin's head bowing in deference before stepping away to join her own alpha. Stiles watched her go with a scowl. He was also covered in lines, a deep red that ran down his face and dotted along the back of his neck and hands. Peter sat down a little ways away, not daring to smudge any of the markings. His eyes caught the light of the fire, flickering around at what was no doubt strange to him. He reeked of frustration and confusion. "Don't worry, we're almost done," he said, trying to keep the growl from his voice. It didn't seem to help. 

Everyone was settling in and getting ready to feast on their kills and savor their drinks. Derek came forward to them with two cups in his hands. He gulped down one of them and held the other out to Stiles. The boy didn't move, glowering at the wine like it had personally attacked him. He looked to Peter for help, but he merely waved his hand, telling him to get on with it. His nephew set his cup down and grabbed Stiles by the shoulder, tipping his head back and feeding him the drink. Peter watched entranced as that pale throat worked to get it all down. It would be a useful skill, he would come to find. Even as Derek let go his eyes were already glossy. He shook his head from side to side as if to clear it. Derek leaned forward, pulling Stiles up to meet him for a kiss. Peter could smell the shock pulse through the boy, his hands came up sharply to push Derek away, but were not strong enough. Soon enough he went lax, allowing Derek to pull him closer, his hands to explore. Peter had never had a fondness for humans, never thought he would bed one before he became an alpha. Seeing Stiles fall so easily to the magic that was worked on him was a sight to behold, and he found himself looking forward to his turn. Derek pushed Stiles into place, onto his elbows and knees facing Peter. He didn't remove the thin robe, instead pulling it up to expose his creamy thighs. Stiles was already panting. From where he was sitting, Peter couldn't see what Derek was doing, but from Stiles' ever changing expression, he could get a pretty clear picture. From the small sounds that he was making, Peter wished he was the one pressing his fingers inside that tight channel. But he couldn't, not yet. He needed to be stretched, and Peter couldn't touch him until the earth was awake and listening to them. Then it could see that they were to be paired, and give them what they wanted.

Derek pushed his way onto his knees, pressing their thighs flush against each other. He filled Stiles with one thrust, making him let out an ear splitting cry, full of shock and power that got a few cheers from their audience. Derek didn't give him time to adjust or gain his bearings, setting a slow but harsh pace. 

Stiles was trying to focus, his eyes rolling back from the fucking, but he was looking around every few moments. When their eyes met, his pupils blew wide, and at the very edges, there was the green light of magic beginning to form. 

******

Stiles has no idea what was going on.

Well, he knew that he was having sex, because he could feel heat moving through his insides like fire and oil, but there was something else happening to him. His head felt floaty and far away while everything happening to his body was happening in sharp detail. His vision kept fading in and out, sometimes sharper and more colorful than he remembered any night being. His fingers were digging into the dirt under him, and every time he felt ready to push himself up, his hands sunk a little further in. 

He thought it was Derek behind him, but he wasn't sure. He meant to check but he couldn't take his eyes off Peter, sitting in front of him with his legs splayed out like he owned the entire world. He was looking down at Stiles, like was watching a masterpiece in the works. Other wolves were dancing around them, walking around and settling down in the background. Stiles tried to focus on anything else, but for some reason Peter's eyes, red with power, were the only thing he could get a grip on.

The pounding behind him became more frantic, punching the air out of him before he could recover. It was stoking the fire higher and higher, until he could feel something stretching him at the base of Derek's shaft. He stopped abruptly, but Stiles felt his cock start to spurt inside him. He whined plaintively, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something. 

"Shhh," Derek hissed, his hand running up Stiles' spine. He pulled out with a grunt, Stiles would have collapsed if it weren't for a hand suddenly pulling him up to his knees. The robe they gave him felt heavy and stiffling now, and just as that thought passed, Derek was pulling it off his shoulders gently. He wondered if all the markings Marin had made were still intact, but couldn't bring himself to look down at his body. 

Wolves were starting to crowd them, forming a circle around him and their alpha as Derek pushed him forward. The same something was helping move him as well. His limbs felt light and powerful, energy moving him and tingling at the back of his mind. He could barely make out Marin behind Peter as he stood in the wide v of the alpha's legs. It felt like slotting into place. 

She said something that Stiles couldn't understand, but the ground under his feet pulsed when she finished. She rubbed some of the red paste onto Peter's forehead. He held out his hand to Stiles, and he took it, a part of him thinking this was a bad idea, that he shouldn't be doing this, whatever this was. That part was slowly eaten by the thrum of power driving it's way into his body. 

Peter's strong hands pulled him down, arranged him in his lap so they were facing each other. His thick fingers travel the length of his body, one going up to cup his cheek and the other to firmly grip his hips. Peter pulled him into a hungry kiss, all teeth and tongue, invading Stiles' mouth to push his moans all the way into Stiles' soul. 

He realized with a jolt that they were both hard, and with it came the undeniable heat of arousal. Usually, those were reversed in Stiles' experience, but everything was topsy turvy right now, and he could only think about satiating it. All the details could come later. 

Peter pulled his hips closer, his cock sliding back into his crack, oil and come easing the way. His hole twitched as he felt the head rub past, and he pressed forward to make sure it had a better angle. Peter growled, thrusting at him and finally filling him. It was like bringing a horse to gallop, sudden, a little dangerous, thrilling. Peter's grip went to his ass, helping him stay on as he rode a man for the first time. His arms wrapped around the wolf's strong shoulders, nails clawing at impervious skin knowing that he couldn't harm this man, and was rewarded with a hungry growl that vibrated through his entire being. He whined high in the back of his throat, a primal part of his mind knowing that that was the right response. 

Somehow, his back was on the ground again. His hand instinctively went above his head, grasping at the bare dirt around them. Peter pulled away, his face morphing into that of a half-beast, his fangs sticking over his lips as he snarled. His hips moved more powerfully, pushing upwards until he hit a spot inside Stiles that had his vision go grey with the intensity. The people around them cheered. The slide of his cock was so nice, stretching him out just enough that he could feel every inch as it rammed into him. There was a thickness, something growing wider at the base of his shaft, pulling on Stiles' hole before slamming back into him. It pressed right up against that spot in him, punching long, high moans out of him, making fire spread through him and cooking his brain. 

Peter reached forward with clawed hands and gripped Stiles' arousal and it only took one stroke to push him over the edge. His back arched, only his shoulders touching the dirt as come shot up into the air, landing all over his chest and getting up to his chin. There was light coming from below, his eyes caught on the glow from the markings all along him, aiding in his whited out vision as his mind tried to process what was happening. Peter was still inside him, rolling his hips in short aborted thrusts, stopped by the too big thing inside him. He threw his head back and howled, others joining in as his cock started to fill him with his seed. 

His insides shook, the energy that had been simmering under his skin was alight now, boiling inside and ready to be released. Each labored breath he took just stoked it, warming him further until he could feel the grass under his fingertips. 

There hadn't been grass before. He brought his hands up to his face, seeing no difference but feeling that there was something new there. His eyes flicked over to Peter, who was slowly shifting back into his handsome visage. He smirked down at Stiles, and pulled them so they were both sitting upright, his back cradled in strong arms. He pressed his face into the crook of Stiles' neck, growling deep in a satisfying way. "You did well, lovely," he said quietly. He took Stiles' hand in his own and held out to the edge of the circle. "Go on, show us what the earth has given you." 

The people scurried out of the line, not knowing what would happen. Stiles still had no idea himself. His hand trembled as he outstretched his arm. A tree caught his attention, young and covered in bright green leaves and cloudy worm nests. The markings on him flashed again. and the energy, the fire that he felt came back in full force. The tree shriveled, browning as the fire flowed through his body and into the ground. He could feel the ground under them soften and grow damp. Soon there was a patch of grass cushioning them. Stiles was too overwhelmed to say anything. Only one thought repeated in his mind._ I did that. _

Peter laughed in delight. He held Stiles' chin as he ran his tongue along his cheek, finally smearing the rune on his face. "We have ourselves a new mage," he said. "May our union be prosperous for both the pack and the earth." 

Stiles didn't know about a union, but the fire... the _magic_ wasn't going anywhere, so he probably shouldn't either. The whole ordeal had made him exhausted, and after the tree was truly dead and gone, he slumped in his perch, not displeased to fall into Peter's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> Or you can chat with me here on [My blog](https://crystalmazewriting.tumblr.com/) .


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